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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25189150">What Good Is Winning (if you lose your heart)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haicrescendo/pseuds/Haicrescendo'>Haicrescendo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Carry On For You [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Canon has been taken out back and shot, Gen, Zuko gets a goddamned nap, and spends most of this fic internally screaming, bros being bros, but has way too many feelings to stand a chance of success, but really you just didn’t know you had a third option, but this ain’t his POV so it doesn’t count, discussions of euthanasia, except that one of them has a big gay crush, non-debilitating injury, non-physical self harm, oops it’s definitely child abuse, oops it’s definitely pokémon abuse, toph telling it like it is, when you think that your problem is a kobayashi maru, you a real one haru, zuko would very solidly like to attempt kolinahr, zuko’s perpetual case of imposter syndrome</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:22:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,921</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25189150</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haicrescendo/pseuds/Haicrescendo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>[“Let it be known, nephew, that I think this idea is terrible.”</p><p>“Noted.”</p><p>“Let it be known, Sparky, that I’m normally very supportive of your bad ideas and I also think that this one is terrible on an entirely new level for you.”</p><p>“Noted,” Zuko says between gritted teeth. “If you didn’t want to help, you didn’t have to.”</p><p>Toph rolls grey, unseeing eyes and flips him the bird.</p><p>“If you think I wasn’t gonna come help the second you told me about this shitshow, you’re out of your mind. You’ll die without me.”]</p><p>Or,</p><p>In which Gym Leader Zuko learns to pick his battles and hates having feelings.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sokka &amp; Zuko (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Carry On For You [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599013</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>282</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2474</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>A:tla</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What Good Is Winning (if you lose your heart)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>OKAY SO I REALLY DIDN'T MEAN TO LET THIS SERIES GO SO LONG. But I did. So sorry, I guess. Hopefully this part makes up for the wait!</p><p>If you enjoyed this, please leave a comment and let me know! If you’d rather screech at me on tumblr instead, I can be found @sword-and-stars.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p><br/>
“Let it be known, nephew, that I think this idea is terrible.”</p><p> </p><p>“Noted.”</p><p> </p><p>“Let it be known, Sparky, that I’m normally very supportive of your bad ideas and I <em> also </em> think that this one is terrible on an entirely new level for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Noted,” Zuko says between gritted teeth. “If you didn’t want to help, you didn’t have to.”</p><p> </p><p>Toph rolls grey, unseeing eyes and flips him the bird.</p><p> </p><p>“If you think I wasn’t gonna come help the second you told me about this shitshow, you’re out of your mind. You’ll die without me.”</p><p> </p><p>Vulca’s gym is not even remotely appropriate for what they’re trying to do right now, so Zuko announced two days ago at breakfast that he was going to Gaoling to attempt this at Toph’s gym. Uncle proceeded to throw a fit about it and refused straight up to stay home, and here they are.</p><p> </p><p>If something goes horribly wrong, at least nothing here is particularly flammable.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko rolls Salamence’s pokéball between his palms. He hasn’t brought him out since the last session with the move deleter, who had to put him back under three separate times before the end of it.</p><p> </p><p>Uncle thinks he’s crazy and maybe a little bit stupid about it.</p><p> </p><p>Toph definitely thinks so.</p><p> </p><p>They both might be right, but it’s not going to stop him.</p><p> </p><p>“Be ready with reflect as soon as I throw,” Zuko orders. </p><p> </p><p>In any other situation, Toph would chafe at being told what to do, as if Zuko thought for a second that he was the boss of her. But Zuko’s tense and anxious and not in the mood to play, and even Uncle isn’t happy that he’s doing this, and she said that she’d help. So just this once, Toph lets him get away with giving her orders.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko hurls the pokéball into the center of the arena and Toph calls for reflect without being asked. Lunatone throws shining, protective walls up around the dragon that shrieks in rage and prowls the perimeter, every inch the predator.</p><p> </p><p>“Zuko…” Uncle warns, and Zuko ignores him, taking a step forward.</p><p> </p><p>Salamence lifts his head, sniffs, and his lip curls in a low, rumbling snarl.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, shhh, hey,” Zuko says softly, taking another step, then another, until only bright, glassy light separates them. “Hey.”</p><p> </p><p>Salamence goes still and lowers his head, presses up hard against reflect’s walls. If Zuko didn’t know better, if he hadn’t learned better, he’d think that it was because Salamence wants to be close to him. There’s a moment of quiet stillness and then the dragon rears back and slams against the barrier.</p><p> </p><p>They flicker.</p><p> </p><p>“Sparky,” Toph warns. Unshakeable Toph looks rattled and disturbed. “More of that and they won’t hold. You need to be ready to pull him back.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko acknowledges her with a silent nod and walks the edge like he’s out for a casual walk. Salamence follows, less casually. Like he’s hunting, rather than following. Despite himself, Zuko suppresses a shiver.</p><p> </p><p>Any show of weakness and that’s it. Salamence respects immovable authority and nothing else. Azula trained him with pain and an iron fist, and now they’re all suffering for it.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you finished?” Zuko asks and receives a growl for his trouble. “Okay, then.” And then he drops to the ground, criss-crossing his legs in front of him. “I can wait. I’ve got plenty of time.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko has plenty of time but very few options. He didn’t have a lot of avenues to begin with but the few that he has have slipped away with every failed attempt to communicate. Salamence continues to pace in agitation in front of him, swinging his tail hard back and forth, claws digging deep rivets into the dirt and stone flooring of Gaoling‘s gym.</p><p> </p><p>Finally, <em> finally,</em> after what feels like forever, Salamence settles to the ground in front of him, lowers his head to the ground, and shows his teeth.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko sighs.</p><p> </p><p>“What do I do with you?”</p><p> </p><p>He relaxes, just a bit. It’s a mistake. There’s a slam, a screech, a cacophony of voice behind him, and glass shatters.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“You can’t keep doing this.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko says nothing while Uncle wraps his chest with rolls of white bandages. The gashes from claws have been cleaned, and Uncle’s bandaging him up as gently as he can, even though there’s no way to truly do it painlessly.</p><p> </p><p>Toph’s reflective wall had failed when Zuko let his guard down, and it was only sheer, dumb luck that he’d only been clawed and not mauled before he’d managed to pull Salamence back into his pokéball. Toph’s furious with him and hasn't said a word to him after confirming that he wasn’t going to need a hospital.</p><p> </p><p>She’s not too mad to refuse him the use of the gym showers and her first aid kit, at least.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you listening to me, Zuko?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko looks up and the expression on Uncle’s face makes his heart hurt.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m listening,” he mumbles, finally. Uncle wasn't happy about this from the start. Of course he’s going to have plenty to say about it now that he’s been proven right. “What would you have me do?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko knows his options and there...aren’t a lot of them.</p><p> </p><p>“You might have to consider—“</p><p> </p><p>“<em>I </em><em>know, </em>Uncle,” Zuko snaps before he can pull it back, sharp and defensive. “It’s all that anyone had ever told me.” He doesn’t want to think about euthanasia being the only viable option. What’s he supposed to do? Release isn’t possible, between all the deleted moves and the genuine concerns about Salamence hunting people. He’s unusable in battle. He can’t even be somebody’s companion. He’s vicious and doesn’t have trust for anyone, and can’t be trusted.</p><p> </p><p>“I know you don’t want to think about it, Zuko—“</p><p> </p><p>“Stop bringing it up, then.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko knows that he’s being hurtful and stubborn and that Uncle’s coming from a place of care. He <em> knows </em> that he’s being unreasonable. He just...he doesn’t have the space in him right now to be able to take it graciously.</p><p> </p><p>He’ll feel bad about it later.</p><p> </p><p>Uncle’s hands stay gentle, but he doesn’t try talking to him again until he’s done.</p><p> </p><p>“Zuko…”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve got to go find Toph,” Zuko interrupts before he can hear anymore. “Then you can say whatever you want.”</p><p> </p><p>Toph is whaling on a punching bag when Zuko enters the part of the gym that’s for people and not pokémon.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m still pissed at you,” she says without even turning around, landing another hit on it that makes it swing hard on its tether. “You’re so <em> stupid,</em> Sparky.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko comes around and grabs the bag before it can come back around and hit her, holding it still and bracing with his weight for a better impact.</p><p> </p><p>“That pokémon is gonna kill you, and you’re gonna let him.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not gonna let him.”</p><p> </p><p>Without a word of warning, Toph whips around and marches around to Zuko’s side and punches him hard in the shoulder. It’s harder and angrier than the taps she uses to express affection. Zuko lets her do it.</p><p> </p><p>“You <em> are!</em>” She spits, glaring at him with unseeing grey eyes. “You’re gonna try and try and try, because guilt makes you stupid, until you fuck up in a way you can’t fix. All the deletion sessions in the world won’t take away claws and teeth.” At her sides, Toph’s hands clench to fists. Rockruff bounds up to her from the sidelines and leans hard against her thigh. “He could have killed you today.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s shirt was ruined, and his body hurts too much to want to put another one on before he absolutely has to.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t think for a second that just because I can’t see how bad those are that I don’t <em> know</em>.” Toph reaches out, gentle despite her anger, and brushes her fingertips to the bandages covering Zuko’s torso. “Kinda makes it worse, actually. Uncle wouldn’t tell me how bad they were, but he didn’t have to. Blood’s got a really distinct smell and you tracked it all over my gym. I can still smell it on you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry, Toph.”</p><p> </p><p>She’s not ready to hear him yet and he knows it, but it’s all he can say right now.</p><p> </p><p>“How the hell do you think that makes me feel? You might be the stupid one but it was <em> my </em> pokémon that put up reflect. Don’t put that on me, or them. Don’t you dare. Got it?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Zuko repeats. He means it.</p><p> </p><p>The fury drains out of his friend and Toph doesn’t have to say anything for Zuko to know that she’s accepted his apology—she does it visibly, like everything else, and he appreciates her for it.</p><p> </p><p>“That dragon scares the <em> shit </em> out of me,” Toph admits. “I don’t scare easy, Sparky. What does that tell you?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko sits down on the tile and drops his face into his hands. He rubs at his temples. He <em> knows</em>. Toph throws herself down onto the floor next to him and bumps his shoulder hard with hers—hard enough to jerk him but not hard enough to really hurt.</p><p> </p><p>“I know that you’re trying to help him, and that you don’t want to give up, and I don’t get the specifics of what’s going on inside your dumb brain, but lemme tell you something. Whatever family drama guilt you’re carrying, <em> I </em> got Azula as a gym leader only, and that pokémon? She’s fucked him for life. He’s <em> never </em>gonna be normal. I know that you know that.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not aiming for normal,” Zuko mumbles. It stings to hear it, even though it’s what he already knows. </p><p> </p><p>He can’t articulate why not trying isn’t an option.</p><p> </p><p>It’s only going to make him look and sound stupid and worse, it’s only going to piss Toph off.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not unsympathetic. I think what you’re doing is probably the kindest thing that anyone’s ever done for him. Maybe the only kind thing,” Toph says. She doesn’t have to be able to see him to know that she’s hurt his feelings a little. “But it’s also pretty stupid. Don’t set yourself on fire to make up for someone else’s mistakes.”</p><p> </p><p>But that’s the problem. Just because they’re not his mistakes doesn’t mean that they’re not his responsibility. Uncle would disagree with that assessment, too.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t even <em> like </em> him,” is all that Zuko can find to say without vomiting all of his feelings out. Toph doesn’t really do soft and squishy feelings, and he likes that about her. Toph’s way of showing affection involves a lot of <em> put up or shut up, </em>and borderline painful physical contact, and Zuko likes that too. </p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think anybody likes him, Sparky.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have to like him. I just...I have to help him. I have to. I know you don’t get it and that you think I’m stupid for doing it, but—“</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think <em> you’re </em> stupid,” Toph interrupts. They both know she can’t see him, but she turns her head away anyway. “I don’t. I was just...mad, when I called you that. I don’t think you’re stupid.”</p><p> </p><p>“You sure about that?” Zuko tries for a grin, even though she can’t see it, and it turns into a grimace when he twists wrong and the gouges in his chest ache.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re not stupid. You’re like, the kindest, nicest dickhead I’ve ever met. I just worry about you. And Uncle does too.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is there <em>anyone</em> on this planet who doesn’t call him Uncle?” Zuko complains into the cosmos.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think your dad ever did.” It’s good to hear Toph joking as opposed to scolding. It’s hard to take from anyone but it’s all the worse when it comes from someone who really, genuinely cares. Toph talks a hard, tough game but she cares deeply about the people she decides are worth it.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko doesn’t know how <em> he </em> made it into that list, but he isn’t complaining.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It’s a very quiet drive back to Vulca.</p><p> </p><p>Uncle Iroh’s still pretty upset about the whole thing, and Zuko’s too filled to the brim with his own concerns to be able to handle it well. He should talk, or say something reassuring, or apologize. It’s a chilly guilt that makes a home in his guts, and Zuko’s frozen with it.</p><p> </p><p>Uncle watches the road and doesn’t say a word, even when Zuko tips forward to drop his face into his hands.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe there’s nothing to say. </p><p> </p><p>“What am I supposed to do?” He finally whispers, an hour into the drive home. It’s the first thing he’s said since finding Uncle in the Gaoling gym and asking if he was ready to go home. “He didn’t...he didn’t do it to himself. Why is he the only one being punished for it?”</p><p> </p><p>Uncle doesn’t look at him, but his body language softens.</p><p> </p><p>Relief? Forgiveness?</p><p> </p><p>Zuko doesn’t know and is too afraid to ask.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Is </em> he the only one being punished for it?” Uncle responds to the question with a question. “Those bandages on your chest say otherwise.”</p><p> </p><p>“...Am I lighting myself on fire to make up for other people’s mistakes?”</p><p> </p><p>At the next stoplight, Uncle finally looks at him. He looks tired and worried, and Zuko’s skin crawls with shame. He knows that he doesn’t behave like a normal person. He doesn’t even know how to do that. He isn’t ever totally sure what people expect from him, even someone who <em> knows </em> him and knows how he is, like Uncle. </p><p> </p><p>“I think that your past has made your life complicated,” Uncle Iroh replies after a moment of deliberation. “I think that your experiences have made you who you are, and that you’ve come out of them stronger than you have any right to be.”</p><p> </p><p>“That isn’t an answer.”</p><p> </p><p>“I think,” Uncle’s choosing his words very carefully, and Zuko prepares to flinch. Even when he blunts them, the blow still smarts, “That you have been made to feel guilty for a lot of things that are not your fault. I know that this is something that you take...personally. I’m sorry for—well, I know that our opinions on the matter differ, but I never meant to make you feel like I disapproved of what you’re doing.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko blinks rapidly, once, twice.</p><p> </p><p>“You. You don’t?”</p><p> </p><p>Uncle sighs. The light turns green, and he starts off down the road again.</p><p> </p><p>“Your methods are reckless and dangerous and I worry about you. You were lucky that you didn’t get hurt any worse than you did today. I’m not happy that you got hurt in the first place.” Zuko does flinch, this time. “But I could never truly disapprove of you trying to help someone. It’s probably the kindest that anyone has ever been to him.”</p><p> </p><p>“...That’s what Toph said.”</p><p> </p><p>“I do like that girl,” Uncle says, eyes on the road. “She tends to know what she’s talking about.”</p><p> </p><p>The silence that follows is another long one, but less awkward. Uncle’s less wall-eyed on the road, and Zuko feels less like a bug under a lens, the validation like a balm on sore muscles. It hurts at first, but it feels better in the end. The times that Uncle has been really and truly upset with him have been few and far between, and there’s no better way to make Zuko feel like a shamefaced six year old again than Uncle Iroh’s look of sincere disappointment. It’s a cold, twisty feeling that Zuko hates and tries to avoid at all costs.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, he’s failed at it.</p><p> </p><p>The drive stays quiet.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Zuko has never given any of Azula’s pokémon nicknames. For a while, it’s because he tells himself that it’s not right, because they’re his but not <em> his</em>. He tells himself that it’s because he wants to help them, because they’re not his, because giving them names would be disrespectful of where they came from. Even if it’s a horrible past, giving them names feels like trying to erase the damage and pretend that it never happened.</p><p> </p><p>With time comes self-reflection, and Zuko is aware enough when he’s deluding himself. </p><p> </p><p>It changes nothing, but he knows.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t give them nicknames, not because they’re not his, but because he’s a horrible coward who wishes desperately that they <em> were</em>. He wishes that they could have been raised with love, even if that means that he’d never have met them in the first place.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Somehow, Zuko hurts more now than he did before leaving Gaoling. </p><p> </p><p>Maybe it’s that the painkillers that Toph and Uncle forced on him are wearing off or maybe the lack of adrenaline is making it harder to hold up the weight. Either way, the moment they’re back in Vulca and it’s safe to get out of the car, Zuko’s dragging himself upstairs, peeling off his shirt, and pouring himself into bed. It’s barely afternoon but he doesn’t want to be awake right now and he can’t handle Uncle’s gentle judgement or the scurrying deference of his junior trainers. He can barely even handle his own stupid brain.</p><p> </p><p>Bed is the best place for him right now.</p><p> </p><p>He knows that any one of his pokémon would be down for a nap and a cuddle, but Zuko’s determined to be alone, even if what he’d really prefer are soft, kicking paws that always seem to be able to find the spaces between his ribs and  a warm presence that wants to be close to him. He’s not in the mood for gentle treatment. Uncle would probably say that he’s sulking. Zuko’s not <em> sulking</em>.</p><p> </p><p>He just doesn’t feel like he deserves it.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko doesn’t think that he really ever gets that nap he knows that he needs. He knows that he closes his eyes and stays off his phone and tries to become one with his mattress. Time passes in a strange, vaguely cognizant daze. Has it been minutes? Has it been hours? Maybe somebody knows, but that somebody sure isn’t Zuko.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko would have stayed in his daze much longer if not for the ringing of his phone.</p><p> </p><p>Without thinking about it, he bats around to answer it.</p><p> </p><p>“H’llo?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why am I looking at your ceiling?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko blinks at that and rolls over, peeling his face out of his pillow to eyeball the screen. Sokka’s face stares back at him, confusion melting into concern. It’s a video call, not a voice call.</p><p> </p><p>“Holy shit, man. You look like garbage.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Zuko replies, “Good to know I can count on you.” He waits for a flippant crack back, but all he gets is a considering narrowing of blue eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Dude, are those...are those bandages?” This is the moment that Zuko realizes that no, he’s not wearing a shirt and yes, he probably should have put one on before answering any phone calls. “What happened?”</p><p> </p><p>Sokka is openly worried and Zuko squirms a little with discomfort. His stomach knots up. He’s still not really used to being worried over—Uncle and Master Piandao still manage to surprise him on a regular basis, and he doesn’t like the feeling.</p><p> </p><p>“I…” Zuko’s voice cracks a little without his consent, “It was just an accident.”</p><p> </p><p>Sokka glares at him.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, I didn’t think you did it on purpose. Are you okay?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko flinches a little and wishes, just for a moment, that he hadn’t picked up. That’s the worst thing about having an actual human friend for the first time in his life: having to use his words on a regular basis is awful and Zuko is pretty solidly terrible at it. It doesn’t help that Sokka is perceptive and so open about caring that it’s almost physically painful, like poking a bruise. It’s satisfying but it hurts at the same time.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m okay,” Zuko finally answers, propping himself up in his elbows to more easily see the screen. “It wasn’t a big deal, just an accident. I heal quick.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s funny that you think that makes me feel better.”</p><p> </p><p>For some reason, it’s hard to look Sokka in the eyes, even through a screen. When Zuko finally manages, though, the other boy’s face is soft and concerned, but non-judgemental.</p><p> </p><p>“Were you sleeping?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko shakes his head. </p><p> </p><p>“No. Just resting.”</p><p> </p><p>“Should you have been sleeping?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko shrugs.</p><p> </p><p>“Probably.”</p><p> </p><p>If it had been anyone else, Zuko might have felt badgered and irritated by the questioning. He’s not entirely sure that he’d have taken it well, even from Toph. Not that his irritation has <em> ever </em> stopped her from badgering when she gets her hooks into something. Sokka sets his phone somewhere that he can stand it up on its own without falling over and props his chin up in his palm. The look on his face is assessing.</p><p> </p><p>“Anything I can help with?” Sokka asks after some internal deliberation. </p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s head hurts.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he says, finally. “I don’t think so.”</p><p> </p><p>Sokka eyeballs him and chews his lip. Zuko can’t keep eye contact and presses his face back into his pillow.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m pretty close, you know,” Sokka says conversationally. “Aang and I did lunch in Floral Village. If you wanted company, I'm not too busy.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko wants to say no. He’s not going to be good company for anyone wanting to spend time with him. Zuko wants to say no. He’s tired and in pain and can’t even motivate himself to get out of bed and take something for his headache. Zuko wants to say no. He <em> hates </em> when people worry about him, and if Sokka’s worried now, how much would he be if he actually saw him? The idea of being someone’s imposition chafes at him. Obligation is like a scratchy tag on the back of a new shirt—infuriating and impossible to ignore.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko wants to say no.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko wants to say <em> yes</em>.</p><p> </p><p>In the end, Zuko says nothing, just grumbles incoherently into his pillow instead. He can’t see his friend but he can hear the laugh that comes out of him. Normally, Zuko hates being laughed at, too.</p><p> </p><p>Most everyone who’s ever laughed at him did it right before they tried to screw him over but he doesn’t think that that’s Sokka’s angle. It doesn’t sound like it, anyway. Sokka laughs at Zuko like he laughs at everything else—with enthusiasm. It’s a nice sound. Not like Azula at all.</p><p> </p><p>“Tell you what,” Sokka ignores that Zuko never actually answered him, “I’ll see about catching a ferry and we’ll do dinner. I’ve been having, like, <em> dreams </em> about the curry we had last time. I’m not kidding, full on meat sweats.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko feels like he should really be able to say something in response, but all he manages is a muffled noise into his pillowcase. The rest of what his friend says is lost on him in the quiet, safe buzz of his words that he doesn’t have to understand to feel comforted by. </p><p> </p><p>Later, he’ll be more than a bit mortified by how warm he feels, warmed by his comforter and warmed by the kind of care that he doesn’t know how to deny and can’t defend himself against. That’s for later, though. For now, he lets Sokka talk him into a slow, syrupy haze and lets his brain unwind. He doesn’t notice when he stops hearing anything at all.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Zuko knows before he even opens his eyes that he’s not alone. </p><p> </p><p>Instinctive panic races through his body until he takes note of <em> how </em> he knows that he’s not alone. There’s extra weight on the mattress and an arm draped over his shoulder—not with any particular purpose but out of convenience or maybe even necessity, because Zuko’s face is pressed up against what feels like somebody’s hip.</p><p> </p><p>He can smell food too, something familiar and spicy.</p><p> </p><p>“You alive?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko blinks blearily and tilts his head to focus. Sokka’s sitting on his bed, lounging against the headboard. He’d probably started out at an appropriate social distance but Zuko’s clearly ruined that, because he <em> knows </em> he fell asleep in the middle but is now definitely, solidly, curled up against Sokka’s hip closer to the edge. The warm, comfortable pressure of Sokka’s arm on his bare shoulders is to help support the portable game console he’s currently playing.</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe?” Zuko’s brain feels furry and slow. This is why he hates naps. Too short and they’re not worth it, too long and he wakes up feeling like he’s in another dimension. He does feel a little better, though. His chest still hurts a lot but his headache faded. <em> “Shit. </em> How long have you been here?”</p><p> </p><p>One of Sokka’s shoulders rises, falls.</p><p> </p><p>“Eh, not long. I came by to see if you were up to going out but you were asleep. It seemed like you needed it, so your uncle gave me his credit card to go get food. He didn’t have to but, you know. Free food?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko knows that he ought to pull away or sit up and put a shirt on or do <em> something. </em>He ends up doing nothing, because he’s useless. Sokka laughs at him again, and it still doesn’t manage to piss him off.</p><p> </p><p>“You ate already?” Zuko mumbles. </p><p> </p><p>“Nah, waiting for you. You hungry?”</p><p> </p><p>Not really, but Zuko nods anyway. Uncle tried to push lunch on him but everything after Gaoling felt like a rock in his guts. He’d rather stay where he is but he sits up, and by the time he’s managed that, Sokka’s handing him a disposable plate with a mountain of rice and a container of curry. It’s positively volcanic-looking, especially in comparison to Sokka’s own, mildly spiced red-brown, and despite himself, Zuko’s appetite perks up.</p><p> </p><p>“We should probably go eat in the kitchen—“</p><p> </p><p>“Nope!” A hand on Zuko’s shoulder pushes him back down, but gently, and carefully avoids the bandaged parts of him. “When you’re feeling crappy, you get to eat in bed. Those are the rules.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko scowls.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not <em> sick.”</em></p><p> </p><p>“But don’t you still feel crappy?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko wants to lie and say that he’s fine and doesn’t feel crappy at all, but he’s bad at lying by default. And he’s already here. So in the end, Zuko lets himself get pushed back down and scoots over to give Sokka a bit more room to eat. There’s no label on the bag or on the container, but Zuko knows instantly where the food came from—he’d recognize Jee’s cooking anywhere by smell alone before taking a single bite.</p><p> </p><p>It looks physically painful for Sokka to keep his interrogating to himself, at least for the time being, but Zuko’s grateful for the reprieve anyway. If he talks, he’s going to lose his appetite, and the food is <em> good.</em></p><p> </p><p>It’s exactly what he orders every time he goes in for lunch—the same thing he’s ordered for years. Zuko wonders whether it’s something that Sokka remembered, or if Jee saw him and matched the orders together from the last time they were there. Zuko wants to know, but he doesn’t want to ask. Instead, he smothers his curiosity in meat and vegetables and spice that warms his lips and insides both.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know you eat that without bursting into flame.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not a wuss?” Zuko offers with a raised eyebrow and a pointed, too-large bite that makes his eyes water out of spite. The glare he gets back is familiar and comforting and exactly what he wants.</p><p> </p><p>“I like my taste buds the way they are—unharmed and exactly the way nature intended. If we were meant to eat the insane amount of chili peppers that you do, they would not have evolved <em> specifically not to be eaten.” </em>It’s an old, comfortable argument too, one that Zuko’s had with him by text and in person more than once. Neither of them could ever really say that they’ve won.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he manages to finish his curry without taking a thousand years the way he normally does when he’s stressed out. Without being asked, Sokka yoinks the plate out of his hands and takes them away, presumably to be thrown away. Zuko takes the moment alone to curl back up.</p><p> </p><p>The lightness that had crept into him while eating is fading away again, leaving only a pit of (self-loathing, self-deprecation, self-doubt) self-pity behind that can't be filled with food, as good as it is. Zuko knows that he’s insufferable when he’s like this, and when he hears footsteps and the door opening, he can’t keep his mouth shut.</p><p> </p><p>“You should go,” he mumbles. “Sorry to have wasted your time, but you should go.”</p><p> </p><p>The footsteps come closer and the mattress dips with weight.</p><p> </p><p>“Scoot over a little.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko scoots, despite himself, and Sokka takes up his previous position, propped up against the headboard. He’s so close that Zuko can feel the body heat radiating off of him.</p><p> </p><p>“See, here’s the thing,” the other boy begins. Zuko doesn’t take his face out of his pillow. “I don’t think you want me to go for your sake. I think you want me to go for mine, and that’s dumb as hell.” Zuko flinches, just a little. He doesn’t know why he feels like he’s just been hit, but Sokka softens the blow by continuing, “I’m your friend, dude. You don’t have to be my entertainment to keep being my friend. You don’t even have to be good company.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t need to worry about me.”</p><p> </p><p>Next to him, Sokka sighs. Zuko feels, for a second, that a hand touches his hair and presses down. Or maybe not. Maybe he’s just imagined it.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not about need, man. Friends do plenty of things that they don’t <em> need </em> to do. I’m going to worry about you because that’s what I’m going to do. And I’d honestly be more worried leaving you here by yourself. I’m not stupid. I know something bad happened today, or you wouldn’t be laying here, hurt and miserable. Something <em> bad </em> happened, or you’d at least have a pokémon or two cuddling in bed with you. It’s like you’re upsetting yourself on purpose. What are you punishing yourself for?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s next breath catches in his throat and he chokes on it. He’s definitely not imagining the hand on his head, more stabilizing and steady than he deserves. Anything he could say in response sits cold in the bottom of his stomach and rots until the moment passes, and it’s too late.</p><p> </p><p>Sokka doesn’t move away from him, though, and he doesn’t say anything else. He just rearranges himself on the bed to be more comfortable and takes out his handheld again. The quiet sounds of the gameplay and the tap-tap-tap of the buttons fill the room, and Zuko twists a bit, tilting his head to press his forehead against Sokka’s thigh.</p><p> </p><p>For a good while, they sit in silence. Normally Sokka’s a talker and does everything he can to fill the empty spaces, but not this time. Zuko likes that about him.</p><p> </p><p>It’s quiet for long enough that if it had been any louder, Zuko wouldn’t have been heard at all.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know what to do.”</p><p> </p><p>Sokka pauses his game.</p><p> </p><p>“About what?”</p><p> </p><p>He’s too old to do shit like this still, but if Zuko’s going to <em> talk</em>, he definitely isn’t going to be able to make eye contact while he does it. </p><p> </p><p>“Salamence,” he finally manages, “Azula’s Salamence. I don’t know what to do.”</p><p> </p><p>The hand on his head shifts a little to a sort of petting motion, and Sokka acknowledges him with an interested, keep-going noise.</p><p> </p><p>“What am I supposed to do?” Now that Zuko’s talking, he can’t seem to make himself stop. “He’s so <em> dangerous. </em>I can’t train him, Sokka. I can’t trust him. I let my guard down and he ripped me open without a second thought.”</p><p> </p><p>Sokka drags in a hard hiss of breath between his teeth and his hand stills, for a moment, before it starts up again.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t even touch him. If he gets hurt, what am I supposed to do? Who the hell would even treat him? If he gets loose, <em> what am I supposed to do</em>? I can’t release him, either. He’s had most of his moves deleted and he—“ Zuko cuts himself off and squeezes his eyes shut.</p><p> </p><p>“And what?” Sokka’s voice is very, very quiet.</p><p> </p><p>“He <em> hunts </em> people.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko remembers right after he and Azula received their first pokémon, she made up a game. Hide-and-hunt, she called it. Luckily, Zuko had always been very good at climbing trees and Salamence, then a Bagon, didn’t yet have wings.</p><p> </p><p>Hide-and-hunt is different now. And worse. <em> So </em> much worse.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko realizes too late that his try for a steady voice has failed him, and comes out in a horrible, shaky whisper instead.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Holy</em> <em>shit</em>, dude. <em>That’s </em>what you’ve been dealing with? You couldn’t pay me enough to—“ Sokka cuts off when Zuko opens his eyes and twists to stare up at him. The horror he feels is matched on his face. “Sorry. I know it’s hard for you. But like...god.” It doesn’t sound like pity but sympathy feels almost worse. Zuko can get angry at pity, but he doesn’t know how to defend himself against sympathy, especially when it’s directed towards him. </p><p> </p><p>“Rehab or euthanasia...are those my only options?” Saying it out loud is more than Zuko can take, and he rolls over to put his back to Sokka’s thigh. Fingertips move from his hair to squeeze at the nape of his neck, prodding experimentally between his shoulders, over the white bandaging that wraps Zuko’s torso. “What’s worse: keeping him locked up for his own safety, or killing him for mine?” </p><p> </p><p>Pressure holds, ebbs, releases.</p><p> </p><p>Sokka doesn’t answer him. Not like Zuko really expects him to. How can he, when there’s no good answer? There’s no good option. There’s nothing okay, nothing fair about it.</p><p> </p><p>“How do you live like this? You’re like one giant knot right now.”</p><p> </p><p>The kneading pressure hurts, but not as much as it could.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re being, like, <em> really </em> hard on yourself right now,” Sokka continues. Zuko wants to know what his face looks like right now, but he also doesn’t. “Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“What if...what if I’m just using him to get over my own fear?” Zuko admits before he can lose his nerve. This is where it probably ends—where Sokka realizes that he’s a fraud with ulterior motives out the ass. Here’s Zuko’s shame on display. He’s Azula’s first pokémon, the only thing in the world she’s twisted up more than she’s twisted him, and Zuko doesn’t know how to help him because he’s <em> scared</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s very suddenly nine years old and terrified, treed by a baby dragon that Azula goads into head butting the trunk to try and shake him out until she eventually gets bored with the game, now that he’s taken the fun out of it.</p><p> </p><p><em> Wait til he has wings! </em> She’d said with glee. <em> Wait til he has wings! </em></p><p> </p><p>“The others aren’t...they aren’t <em> like that</em>,” he continues, because Zuko’s never known how to stop once he starts something. “God. Salamence is the whole reason why Flareon’s terrified of dragons. They’re not...they still know how to trust, okay? They’re not okay but they trust me to keep them safe, okay? He doesn’t trust <em> anybody </em> and I don’t think he ever can. What if the whole reason I’ve been able to work with the other ones is because I like them, and I don’t like <em> him</em>?”</p><p> </p><p>“Has he, uh,” Sokka’s voice sounds strained, like he’s not breathing right, “Has he hurt you before this?”</p><p> </p><p>“Mom used to make us play together. She used to tell me to <em> be nice, she’s your sister</em>. I tried, okay? I fucking tried, but it’s pretty hard to be nice when options are to run away or get mauled.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko didn’t run the first time.</p><p> </p><p>After that, Zuko hadn’t needed to learn the lesson twice.</p><p> </p><p>“Listen, I need you to—“ Sokka puts his game, abandoned for the time being, to the side on Zuko’s nightstand, “Just—scoot, okay?” Sokka rustles around and Zuko scoots without really thinking, only to have his friend plastered to his back moments later, one arm sliding under his pillow and the other hauling him close. Sokka’s not breathing right, and Zuko twists a little.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you—“</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Please </em> don’t ask me if I’m okay right now. Okay? Do not.” Sokka drops his face into the back of Zuko’s neck. “We’re not talking about me right now.” He’s shaking a little bit.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko wishes, not for the first time in his life and probably not for the last, that he’d kept his stupid mouth shut.</p><p> </p><p>“How are you even <em> like </em> this? Don’t answer that.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko wishes he could go about ten minutes back in time and smack himself a little. Or at the very least, tell himself to shut up.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not his fault that he’s awful,” Zuko mumbles, digging his personal hole just that much deeper. “He never even stood a chance, okay? It’s not his <em> fault.”</em> Zuko’s not stupid. He knows that the current situation isn’t sustainable or healthy or good for anyone. </p><p> </p><p>“Can you just—hold on. Just hold on a minute and let me put my brain together for a second. Okay?” </p><p> </p><p>Zuko shuts up and allows the careful squeeze that pulls him snug against Sokka’s chest. It’s weird to let someone do it and weirder still that someone even <em> wants </em> to, but he doesn’t hate it. He doesn’t think that he could take it from anyone else, but it’s just <em> Sokka</em>, who’s already seen him at his shittiest. It’s not like he hasn’t already set a precedent for it, anyway, he decides, remembering a warm arm wrapped around his shoulders and pressing his loose pieces together.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re <em> such a good friend</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Sokka makes a gargled choking noise somewhere behind him.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not that good,” he mutters. His breath is warm against the back of Zuko’s neck. “I’m really not. But you...god. How the hell?”</p><p> </p><p>“How the hell what?”</p><p> </p><p>“How the hell did you turn out so fucking <em> good?</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko doesn’t think that Sokka means for it to hurt. Objectively, it’s a nice thing to say. A <em> too </em> nice thing to say, because Zuko hasn’t turned out good at all. Zuko’s turned out to be a broken asshole who doesn’t know how to be people and who’s going to drown under the wave of his own inability to make one goddamned decision. He’s just about to turn over and protest, except that Sokka has ESP or something and keeps talking before he can say a word.</p><p> </p><p>“Nope, not done yet. Stop that. You’re <em> amazing,</em> okay? I’m not talking about being a strong trainer. I mean, you are. Of course you are. But <em> god. </em> You’re so <em> kind, </em>okay? All that shit, and you still turned out like this?”</p><p> </p><p>Internally, Zuko’s screaming <em> no, no, no </em>, but can’t take in enough air to actually make words happen. Sokka sounds so serious, so emphatic, like he really, truly believes that. Zuko doesn’t know how many ways he can say that he’s wrong, that he’s deluded, that Zuko is a sham who’s somehow managed to pull off a magic trick he hasn’t meant to do.</p><p> </p><p>“And you don’t even believe me. I <em> know </em> you don’t.” Sokka drops his face back into Zuko’s nape and sighs, very deeply, like he’s praying for strength. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Don’t hole up in the dark by yourself when you don’t want to be alone. You’ve got at <em>least</em> ten pokémon more than happy to smother you with love. They deserve to do that and you deserve to let them. I’ve never seen anybody’s pokémon love their trainer so much.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s an arrow, nocked on a bow, so tense that one wrong move will loose him. He doesn’t know whether he wants Sokka to keep going or to just shut up and never say anything nice about him ever again.</p><p> </p><p>In the end, he’s weak.</p><p> </p><p>In the end, he says nothing.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ll figure it out, okay?” Sokka squeezes him again, once more and with feeling while still being unnecessarily careful of his injuries, before sitting up and picking his game back up like he hasn’t just completely and utterly broken Zuko’s brain. “I know some people who might know some people who can help. I’ll ask around.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko doesn’t deserve such a good friend, but he gets, regardless, and doesn’t know how to reject it. He doesn’t think that he could, even if he tried. Even if he wanted to.</p><p> </p><p>He can’t turn back to face him. It’s too much, and not enough, and Zuko hates it. Sokka doesn’t ask him to sit up, or to turn back to look at him. He doesn’t ask him to do anything at all, even when the most that Zuko can manage is press the flat of his back solidly against Sokka’s hip. A hand, steadily becoming more familiar by the moment, comes down to give the muscles in his neck a testing knead.</p><p> </p><p>“You lost a little tension here. Are you feeling better? Do you want me to leave you alone?”</p><p> </p><p>That’s the moment that Zuko <em> has </em> to turn over to goggle at him in shock, because despite his apparent confidence, Sokka apparently also doubts his welcome. That won’t do at all. How could he <em> not know </em> that he’s welcome? He’s about the only person that Zuko can think of, other than Uncle and Piandao and maybe Toph sometimes, who’s pretty much always welcome. Incredulous gold eyes meet startled blue.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t be <em> stupid,</em>” he grumbles, and has to hide his face in his arms when Sokka’s whole face goes soft in a way he can’t interpret. “Don’t go.”</p><p> </p><p>Sokka snorts out a laugh.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay. I won’t.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko ends up passing out in his bed before the sun even properly goes down. He’s not awake enough to know or care when Sokka slides off the mattress to the floor to make a phone call in the kitchen that lasts a long time, long enough that Uncle Iroh takes one look at him and brews a fresh pot of ginseng. Zuko doesn’t know it, but it’s going to be a long night.</p><p> </p><p>Just not for him.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Zuko sleeps for thirteen hours.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko sleeps for thirteen hours and then stares at the ceiling for about twenty minutes, because he doesn’t remember the last time he’d been out for that long. Definitely not since taking over Vulca’s gym. The combination of his self-imposed workload and a steady, reliable stream of nightmares keep him at an average of five, if he’s lucky.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s also alone, which isn’t unusual, except that he wasn’t alone last night. He nips the whisper of disappointment in the bud right away. Of course Sokka left. Zuko fell asleep, what was he supposed to do, just <em> stay</em>? If Zuko had known he was going to fall asleep that quickly, he’d have gone ahead and said that he could go.</p><p> </p><p>It felt good, though. Zuko doesn’t have much experience with safety but it felt good to let himself be held and it felt good to be honest, even if it didn’t at the time. Like throwing up.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko takes a very long, not-as-hot-as-he’d-like shower and dresses, cleaning and rewrapping the bandages around his chest when he’s done.</p><p> </p><p>Uncle’s almost definitely been up for hours—he and Zuko both tend to wake up with the sunrise, though Uncle does enjoy the occasional lie-in that Zuko rarely indulges in. Zuko <em> knows </em>that Uncle is up, because there’s noise coming from the kitchen and something that smells really good. Still rubbing at his eyes, Zuko drags himself down the stairs, into the kitchen, and stops dead.</p><p> </p><p>Uncle’s there, as expected, having a cheerful conversation with <em> Sokka,</em> who’s not gone but is instead interrupting his own sentences with bites of bacon and sips of green tea. And then there’s a stranger, a tall young man in his twenties who doesn’t look quite at home, but is apparently adaptable enough to be comfortable. He too has a half-finished plate of breakfast in front of him.</p><p> </p><p>All three of them look up when Zuko darkens the doorway.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, you’re up!” Sokka exclaims, “We weren’t sure how long you’d sleep for. How are you feeling?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko’s thrown out of his element and unmoored.</p><p> </p><p>He answers anyway.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m...I’m fine?” The words don’t feel like a lie so they must be true. He tries again. “I’m fine.”</p><p> </p><p>He eyeballs the stranger, who waves at him. Before Zuko can get a word in edgewise, Sokka’s on his feet and clapping the man on the shoulder like an old friend, beaming like the sun.</p><p> </p><p>“This is Haru,” he says, and continues when that explains exactly nothing, “He’s Dad’s friend’s friend, and he’s here to help.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Haru is twenty-four years old and has an impressively solid history with working with unmanageable pokémon. He doesn’t seem offended by Zuko’s initial suspicion and finishes breakfast while Zuko looks him up on his phone.</p><p> </p><p>Haru has a veterinary degree and a no-contact pokémon sanctuary up in the northern mountains by Omashu, which coincidentally has a dragon-sized opening available immediately.</p><p> </p><p>Haru listens to every brutally honest word of Zuko’s assessment of Salamence’s history and the extensive list of avenues tried, and isn’t remotely intimidated.</p><p> </p><p>Haru takes Zuko’s surly, borderline-rude interrogation with good grace, and insists, despite <em> everyone’s </em> reservations, on actually seeing the pokémon in question. Zuko has to admit that he knows what he’s doing and so does the pair of Kadabra that box off a psychic barrier without being asked. Salamence snaps and snarls, stalks and rages and slams hard against that barrier that doesn’t so much as wobble. Zuko’s anxious and on edge and more than once has to be kept from stepping forward and stopping all of it by Sokka’s hand wrapping around his arm.</p><p> </p><p>“Let him do what he has to do,” Sokka mutters to him. “Haru knows what he’s doing, alright? It’s okay.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko remains a quivering coil of tension the entire time, until he’s instructed to recall his pokémon, who seems, finally, to have given up on bloodshed. Haru approaches with a calm sort of serenity that would not be out of place on someone having a spa day.</p><p> </p><p>“Gym Leader Zuko,” he says politely, “It would be my honor to give Salamence a home in my sanctuary. That is, of course, if I’ve met your expectations. I can tell that you’ve been so good to him.” He <em> bows, </em>and Zuko chokes on his own breath. </p><p> </p><p>Next to him, Sokka releases a squeak of laughter that silences immediately when he catches sight of Zuko’s face. Zuko isn’t laughing.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko is mortified and overwhelmed and isn’t sure whether he wants to punch Haru in the face for being so unbearably decent or start crying. Sokka’s hand, still all warm, solid pressure around his bicep, squeezes. It’s grounding.</p><p> </p><p>After a lengthy pause that borders on socially uncomfortable, Zuko finally cracks. He drops his head and bends at the waist in the kind of bow he hasn’t done since he lived here and Ozai was still in charge, hands folded at belly button level. He can’t look up, and stares hard at Haru’s feet instead.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Thank you.”</em> </p><p> </p><p>Zuko doesn’t even recognize his own voice when he speaks. He sounds hurt and broken, even though this is a good thing. It <em> is.</em> It’s the best thing that he can possibly do.</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t mean that it doesn’t still hurt.</p><p> </p><p>Next to him, Sokka is ramrod straight and very still. When Zuko drops, his hand slides off and presses, very gently, to the flat between his shoulders. </p><p> </p><p>Haru touches the top of his head, and Zuko twitches but doesn’t move.</p><p> </p><p>“You did everything you could,” the man says. Zuko bristles on instinct and lets it hit. “From what you’ve said and what I’ve seen? The best thing we can give him is lots of space and to leave him alone. He’ll be well cared for, I promise. You don’t have to worry.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko is worried. Zuko is <em> so </em>worried.</p><p> </p><p>“If it’s too soon, I can come back and get him whenever you’re ready,” Haru offers kindly. Zuko shakes his head hard and wordlessly presses Salamence’s pokéball into his hands before he can change his mind.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s, um.” Zuko’s had seventeen years to learn how to breathe but somehow, it feels like he’s forgotten how. He feels lightheaded and dizzy, no matter how many swallowing gulps of air he takes. “Inside. There’s a file with his, um. His paperwork. Immunizations, medical records, pedigree. Uncle can give them to you.”</p><p> </p><p>Haru, mercifully, doesn’t try to make him feel better. Uncle Iroh leads him back into Vulca’s gym, leaving Zuko alone with Sokka in the afternoon sun, still bent over like he’s going to throw up all over the grass.</p><p> </p><p>It feels like it took forever, but it still happened so fast.</p><p> </p><p>“You gonna be okay there, good buddy?” Sokka asks from his spot at Zuko’s right side. </p><p> </p><p>Zuko grits his teeth.</p><p> </p><p>“How many phone calls did you make last night?” He finally manages. “How did you even—what did you have to—to get him here?“</p><p> </p><p>“Enough,” Sokka says firmly. “I made enough. I did enough. I’m not gonna tell you how or how many or who. You don’t need to know. I didn’t do it because I wanted to impress you or anything. I had some favors to call in, and I just wanted to <em> help </em> you. That’s all. I just wanted to help you.”</p><p> </p><p>Genuine kindness is the one thing that Zuko cannot handle right now. His eyes burn.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh...oh no. <em> Oh no.</em>” </p><p> </p><p>Zuko wobbles a little where he stands and Sokka slaps his hands around his arms and helps lower him to the ground before he drops. Zuko scrubs hard at his face and his fingers come away wet.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t cry, oh god.” Sokka sounds panicked and flustered. Zuko tries to stop but he doesn’t know how. “Why are you <em> crying</em>? I’m so sorry, did I do something wrong? Are you okay? Do you feel sick?”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko shakes his head again and opens his mouth to answer but all that comes out is a breathy sob. He can’t stop. He might never stop again, not until he’s empty. Like draining a bathtub. All he can do is go until he’s done. </p><p> </p><p>The tears don’t <em> stop.</em></p><p> </p><p>“I’m not—I’m fine, I’m <em> fine</em>, okay? I’m f-fine—“ </p><p> </p><p>“Oh for the love of—<em> come here.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>And then Zuko’s being grabbed in a tight hold that should feel smothering but doesn’t, and finds his nose pressing hard into the juncture of Sokka’s throat. Despite his panic, his hands on him are steady and calm.</p><p> </p><p>“Cry if you gotta,” he says firmly, settling down on his knees for comfort and bundling Zuko into his chest. “It’s just me, and Haru won’t say shit. No judgement. I’ve got you.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko runs out of fight. </p><p> </p><p>He’s not a pretty crier by any means, but he is a quiet one. When he finally lets his face tip forward, all anyone would see if they looked would be Gym Leader Zuko trying to bury himself into another human being and <em> not </em> bawling grossly like an infant. Zuko already has a terrible reputation; what’s a little bit more? Nobody will see the tears soaking into Sokka’s shoulders or the way that Zuko’s hands clutch desperately at his back to hold.</p><p> </p><p>Zuko doesn’t know how to balance how bad he feels with the sheer amount of relief. It’s intense and heady and he’s going to drown under it. How can the lifting of weight possibly hurt more than the pain of holding it? It’s such a good thing, such an undeniably good thing and yet, somehow, Zuko’s still in pain. He’s in pain and yet, here’s a person who saw that pain and did something about it. He might refuse to say exactly how much work he put in but it’s obvious by the rumples in his clothing and the bags under his eyes—</p><p> </p><p>Sokka is the best friend that Zuko’s ever had, the very top of a very short list if it only includes people. His heart doesn’t know how to handle Sokka’s brand of genuine, undeserved kindness and when combined with the waves of unexpected grief, Zuko never stood a chance.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t even like him,” he wheezes, barely louder than a whisper, “I <em> don’t. </em> So why am I so fucking sad?”</p><p> </p><p>Sokka makes a quiet, hurt little sound from between his teeth and holds him a little bit tighter. It makes Zuko feel <em> small </em> but not necessarily in a bad way.</p><p> </p><p>“Feel whatever you’ve got to feel. I’ve got you. I’m here.”</p><p> </p><p>Zuko doesn’t deserve this. There’s not a thing that he could do in this world to deserve it, but right now he doesn’t care. He wants to deserve it. He wants to be worth it.</p><p> </p><p>“How can you be so good to me?” Zuko mumbles, and lets himself be given what he wants without denial. “The fuck.”</p><p> </p><p>Sokka chokes on his own laughter. He sounds <em> surprised</em>.</p><p> </p><p>“Dude. <em> Dude.</em> Where have you been?” Zuko’s going to ask what he means by that but can’t, distracted suddenly by hands that reach out to frame his cheeks and squeeze, very gently. “Don’t worry about it. Just let me be good to you.”</p><p> </p>
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